Chapter Text
It starts when Atsumu is five.
He is cradled in his mom’s lap, wheeling a toy truck up and down her arm. Osamu is already asleep, leaning into her, sucking on his thumb. Atsumu doesn’t do that, because he is a big boy and not a wimpy baby like Osamu. It is Wednesday night, and mom is doing what she does every Wednesday before putting the boys to sleep; watching her stories. They aren’t very good stories, much too long and with no action and lots of girls crying. Not a single super sentai suit in sight, so naturally they are of little consequence to Atsumu. Tonight, however, he finds himself trying to follow along for whatever reason. There is a lady in the rain, and a man, and another man, and crying. Atsumu huffs a little–why did Mom like this so much? He leans his head back to ask, or maybe beg her to turn on an anime instead, when he notices the little tears trickling down her face.
Whoah. Mom never cries.
He reaches up, chubby baby hand gently bapping the side of her face consolingly, like she did when he cried.
“Momma? What’s wrong?”
She leans forward, eyes still on the screen as the somber outro begins to play, and kisses the top of his head softly.
“It’s just a sad story, baby. She picked the wrong one, I think.”
Atsumu frowns.
“Why would she do that?”
Mom pauses for a moment, eyes wandering over to the front door, to the genkan, to the pair of adult women’s loafers and twin sets of little sneakers and nothing else.
“People often do.”
—
Atsumu is in his last year of middle school when it continues.
Watching their drama together weekly has become a tradition for him and his mom. For one full hour, one night a week, he stops trying to kill Osamu and curls up on the couch next to her. He always stops by the convenience store on the way home from school and picks up ice cream for each of them. They sit and complain loudly, sometimes cry a bit. The plots vary, but the cheesiness and melodrama remains strong, no matter what they watch.
A strong theme for both of them is that if a love triangle is involved, they find themselves rooting for Mr. Second Lead–almost always a better fit, almost always kinder, more charming, more caring. Never right.
Tonight is a very exciting night–Boys Over Flowers is premiering. The K-Drama version, that is–there had already been a manga, an anime, and a J-Drama. Atsumu had been too young for any of those, and was extremely excited for this adaptation.
They had just settled on the couch together when Osamu and Rin shuffled in the front door, elbowing each other and giggling.
Mom, for her part, just shouts out a greeting and tells them to keep it down. Atsumu begins inexplicably sinking into the couch further and staring determinedly at the red bean ice cream in his hand, when he would normally be whipping a pillow at Osamu’s head for disturbing such a sacred night.
Instead, he finds himself glancing up furtively as the boys take off their shoes and make their way to the twins bedroom, complaining about homework and teachers and such. Suna is a newer friend–not Atsumu’s friend, not really, Osamu had always made more friends, being generally easy going and, y’know, not an asshole. He’d been hanging around a lot the last few months, cracking stupid jokes (often at Atsumu’s expense), smirking, eating the pudding Atsumu saved for himself, and generally being a pain in the ass.
He rubs Atsumu the wrong way in every way, and Atsumu is never one to back down from a fight, usually is the one to instigate them.
But Suna was- is -different. Instead of responding to the barbs and taunts and snickers, Atsumu finds himself ducking his head and shuffling away silently, fuming, the tips of his ears red. This only seems to encourage Suna, who is well aware of Atsumu’s reputation at school, and makes him more determined to get a rise out of the twin. He throws things at the back of Atsumu’s head during class, whistles when he changes in the locker room, winks when they make eye contact.
Naturally, this sort of behavior has cemented Suna’s place as Osamu’s best friend.
Atsumu hears the door to the bedroom click as it opens and the boys step inside. Suddenly desperate, he snaps his eyes up, catching a glimpse inside just as the door closes, and he sees Suna, eyes locked on the back of Osamu’s neck, something in his gaze that makes Atsumu’s stomach clench painfully.
Click, as the door closes.
An excited hum from his mom as the show starts.
Atsumu turns back to the TV. Something is thumping and fluttering wildly in his chest, frightened wingbeats ricocheting off the walls of his ribs. It’s the feeling of catching a small bird, and he’s desperate to let the thing go but terrified to open his hands.
—
Twenty-five episodes later, and Atsumu is ready to strangle somebody. Jan Di, you goddamn idiot, you chose the wrong one.
—
Suna is pretty, lean and sharp and dazzling like stained glass. Suna is funny, witty and mean in all the right ways. Suna is so completely out of his grasp that by the start of high school Atsumu has vowed to give up entirely.
Atsumu has always been good at reading people. It’s what makes him a good setter, and it’s what makes him so absolutely excellent at pushing people’s buttons. It’s how he knows his middle school team fucking hates him, even though they need him. It’s how he knows Suna is in love with his brother, how he knows his brother is oblivious beyond reason to it all. When they enter high school together Atsumu decides he will give up before he even really starts, as he can’t stand the thought of pushing Suna away, or even of screwing over his dumb, idiot, stupid-ass brother.
But deciding to be over it and being over it are different. Atsumu finds that he can’t stand hanging out with them casually, and he can't stand seeing Suna look at Osamu. He’s trying to be a good person, really trying, but the thrill he feels zip through him when he meets Rin’s eyes, when Rin smirks at him after a particularly good set, is too intoxicating to give up entirely.
So he does the one thing he knows he can do.
He becomes useful, indispensable.
He spends all of his free time at the court, setting and serving and setting some more. He plugs in his headphones to listen to game breakdowns when they walk home together. When Suna comes over he throws out some biting remark about him being annoying, shuffles out to the backyard, and watches old game reruns on his phone, devouring different players forms and sets, puzzling out how to do the flashiest and most insane plays he possibly can. Anything to get Rin to look at him a little longer, smile a little bigger.
A year passes, and Atsumu finds the once wild wing beats in his ribcage have stilled, only the occasional dull thump heard inside. He still watches a drama with Mom once a week, still always cheers for Mister Second Place. He resolves, however, to never come in second again. He will be more charming, more arrogant, more talented and more determined than any bastard out there. Suna was a special case, his brother was involved. Besides, Atsumu reasons, it doesn’t count as losing if you never said you were playing to begin with.